


Carrot on a stick

by Windwyrm



Series: Wolf & Raven [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Gen, Pre-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29342679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windwyrm/pseuds/Windwyrm
Summary: Sometimes, we're stuck drifting aimlessly. And sometimes, we carry on solely for the smallest of things.[ Heads up for readers with this sensitivity: Depicts depression, hopelessness, and suicide attempts/thoughts. ][ Prelude-ish to the series. Can be read independently as well. ]
Series: Wolf & Raven [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1766134
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Carrot on a stick

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for suicidal ideation and mentions.

“They give you all this training, do this, do that, say this, fuck that. Deescalation, ‘s what they call it. And you know what the fucked up thing is, Jim?” He took a sip to punctuate his rhetorical question.

Jimmy looked towards him silently, as he did to all of his drunk patrons. Must come with the territory, that… hearing everything under the sun and then some, and pretending like you’re still interested in all that shit.

Placing the now empty shot glass on the bartop, Hank continued, “You start applying it to yourself, you catch yourself doing that. ‘s just this shitty for tonight. Drink, take a pill, sleep it off…”

_You can kill yourself in the morning if you still want to._

_And you never fucking do, by then._

_You never do when the pain is chronic. You never do when you’ve slept off that one last straw. You never do once the hurt is dulled by something… alcohol… sleep… pills… drugs… we all have our thing… the fucking carrot on the stick..._

“Yeah, Jim, you tell that shit to enough idiots, you start thinkin’ it applies to you. That life’s all peaches an’ cream if you just find the right thing to fight for.”

He tapped the empty glass.

Jimmy returned with the whiskey bottle.

And sometimes that was enough.

_For another glass._

  
  


At some fucking point, the daily drag added up to a year. Somehow, he’d carrot on a stick’ed himself for a whole damn year…

A wasted year. A year that had been nothing. No joy. No highlights.

He rolled the chamber and pushed it in. Glanced down the barrel. Swallowed the metallic taste that had built up in his mouth for whatever fucking reason.

Time was both too slow and too fast.

One entire fucking year.

He raised the gun and pressed it against his temple. If only his fucking hand would stop fucking trembling.

_Kids can fucking do this, you coward._

_You can’t do a single fucking thing right, huh?_

_Not one._

_Not one fucking thing._

_Not even this._

_A fucking teenager can do this and you can’t. What a fucking waste of_

Weight pressed on his legs, and he looked down at the brown and white fur, and those brown eyes, looking up at him from under raised brows and wrinkled forehead, pitiful, begging. Begging for pats, of course, the damn dog probably had no fucking idea of things beyond that. Just like he had no idea he shouldn’t lick his balls or piss on his own house. Or like he still had no idea what the fuck a poodle was. Or like he had no fucking idea that licking and nibbling Hank’s long forgotten wedding ring wouldn’t rid of it like it were a scab… although the sentiment was pretty accurate.

Hank sighed. He placed the gun back on the table. He pulled his wedding ring off. It had been, what now? Since he kept it… Dumb sentimental fuck.

One fucking year had gone by somehow since the… other thing, as well… Dogs lived, what…? Eight, for a mastiff? A few more, then…

_For Sumo._

  
  


“I’d say the husband shot her.”

Verdict delivered, Hank shoved his hands in his pockets. 

Summoning all courage that still coursed through his veins, he glanced at the cruiser parked on the curb, and the sobbing child within. Blonde, looked a bit older than Cole, and here he was, throwing salt in the wound again.

With a sigh, he walked towards the cruiser. Opening the back door, he crouched down.

“Hey,” he forced a smile.

The kid said nothing.

“You’re a really brave boy.”

_You’re really gonna do that shit?_

“Must take a lot of courage to call us.”

_Fucking hypocrite._

“You did really great.”

_You’re disgusting._

The boy wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve, sniffling.

“He ran out.”

“Who did?”

“My daddy. He ran out to the back shed. He keeps the gun there. Under the dog food. So I don’t find it. Mommy was crying and told me to hide, so I did.”

“And then you called us?”

The kid nodded, “When the shouting stopped.”

“You did really good, son.”

“Mommy is dead, isn’t she?”

_Sugarcoat it. Be a decent human for once._

“Yeah. Yeah, she is.”

_Why are you like this?_

“She’s gonna be a skeleton next... Can I see her then?”

_The fuck are you supposed to answer to something like that?_

“You wanna see your aunt first?”

“I guess. I don’t remember how she looks.”

Hank smiled. “I’m sure she looks pretty and friendly. And that she’ll take care of you. I hear she lives in a fancy suburb and all.”

_You’re shit at this._

_Shit at cases._

_Shit at talking._

Little arms flung around his neck and the boy buried his face in his jacket. Caught off-guard, Hank awkwardly patted his back.

_For putting that poor kid’s dad behind bars._

  
  


Two years.

It was a warm October, this one.

He wore that yellow and blue shirt Cole loved so much.

And he could just climb over the fucking railing.

He took a large gulp of the bottle instead.

_For kicks._

  
  


“Hey, man.”

Hank turned around, looking at the guy that had approached him.

“What’s the problem?”

“Listen. You look like shit. Old clothes, scraggly hair, old car… I can change that.”

_Can you?_

_Can anyone?_

“Doubt that.”

“You ever bet on horse races? There’s money in that. Big money. And I can read the horses like I read people.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, just… Give me 10 and I’ll come back to you with a 50. You’ll see. Next time you come here.”

“Mm,” Hank chuckled with dry, absent amusement. He opened his jacket and slid his hand in the pocket. “A 10 you say?”

_For proving him wrong._

  
  


“You seem to be having a great day.”

Now that he was aware of it, his smile faded almost immediately.

_Yeah… Great fucking day._

And now, the stupid ass train of thought that had got him out of the tar pits crashed once more.

They’d just rub it in. Every fucking day, every fucking moment, they kept fucking rubbing it in. ‘Good day, huh?’ ‘Wow you look great today’ ‘You’re doing great!’ ‘You’re so strong!’ ‘Ohhhh the key is hope I’m so glad you never abandoned hope’

Was that really what he’d carried on for?

_For hope?_

_Hope for what?_

‘New relationship,’ some told him. He was entirely too old for that crap. And how could he, after the way the last one went, after how he looked? Nah, his new lover was whiskey.

‘You can have another child,’ how sensitive. How fucking classy this one was. Technically, yeah, he could. He could even do that Thing that all the depressed fuckers did and gotten a child android. No food, no mess, obedient… no death… 

‘Don’t know what tomorrow brings,’ nothing good, you fucks.

‘Have you tried yoga?’

‘Walking makes me happy.’

‘I’ve been there too, try a self help book. I recommend’

‘Yoga. Seriously.’

And that stupid, stupid song continued in the background.

_I’ll soon be gone now,_

_Forever not yours._

  
  


Three years.

He celebrated with takeout. Even a cake. And the real dessert, the bottle of painkillers he placed onto the table. Which he eyed. Constantly.

And pushed away.

_For another slice of this stupid ass cake._

  
  


The door creaked as it swung open, and the cold smell of rain cleared the thick drunken air for a few seconds. It was still raining hell outside, and it drowned out the music and bar chatter. Door closed again. Guy was sure taking his time, not moving for a few seconds. Even good ol’ Jimmy leaned on the counter, and judging by the shuffling of cloth and dreadlocks, he turned to eye Mister New Face. No worries, though… He’d be a regular soon enough. They all were. Hotel fucking California.

“Shit, I thought androids weren’t allowed in here!”

Oh, so an android entered.

Whatever. Someone will kick it out.

Whenever the fuck they were done gaping.

The heavy footsteps echoed in the small bar, walking behind Hank. Probably here to service the bathroom, or the old ass jukebox, and that’s why Jimmy wasn’t saying shit. Whatever. It’d be gone soon enough.

Or maybe not ‘soon enough’, Hank sighed, hearing the steps draw nearer once more, coming to a halt in his proximity.

“Lieutenant Anderson, my name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”

_Oh, wonderful. It’s here for me._

“I looked for you at the station, but nobody knew where you were. They said you were probably having a drink nearby.”

_Does it ever stop talking?_

“I was lucky to find you at the fifth bar.”

  


_For fuck’s sake._

  


“What do you want?”


End file.
